The Delusion
by DarkestTruth
Summary: The Phantom is so much more than a stage name, and the last enemy to be defeated is not death, but memories. Ghosts of his past will never leave. Aria/Phantom, slight Maha/Aran if you squint.


Summary: 'The Phantom' is so much more than just a stage name, and the last enemy to be defeated is never death, but memories. Sometimes he can almost see it. Phantom/Aria, angst, lies, and all the small things he wishes he could forget. Or remember.

* * *

(It's too real)

It's all the small things that he wishes he could forget- the way her head tilted ever so slightly to the left, the way her arm was flung so limply across her tiny, broken form, the way that what had seemed dainty and lovely now seemed frail and weak, the way her hair fell in bloody threads across her face.

Then he _does_ start to forget and he wakes up screaming _no, don't let me, I don't want to_ until he recalls them all- all the fine details, like white lies lost in a snowstorm. He feels so terrible when he does. He can't let them go, can't let her go, but it hurts so much to remember, and-

Death was supposed to be something horrible. She shouldn't look so at _ease_ in death, shouldn't look so peaceful, and maybe he was a horrible person for thinking so, but…

He hates that she doesn't look dead.

He hates that she doesn't look dead, he hates she's so peaceful in death, he hates that she _is_ dead, he hates that he couldn't stop it- yet again he's failed, and he wonders if he truly is useless, if he really can't save anyone, can't save anything-

But he hates most of all how she seemed to be sleeping. How he was so sure she would wake up any moment.

But ghosts aren't real. Will-o-wisps are real; but they're really not ghosts, just little transparent creatures; and skeletons are real; but everyone knows that they're made of black magic; and many other monsters are real, between the ones haunting his mind and the ones across the battlefield.

But Phantom knows that ghosts aren't real.

(It's just his imagination)

* * *

(Sometimes he can almost see it)

It was Aran who'd woken him up. She shook him, shouting, and in the moonlight her hair, which had been let down, seemed like pale starlight rather than snow, and then faded to a soft blonde in the blaze of comets and fire in the distance- it almost led him to believe that she was- that she was-

Someone else. He'd thought she was someone else, that was all, and he'd told her so, after he'd finished screaming at the sight of her (Orca, he'd thought, then Aria, then-wait, what?) and wrapped his arms around her tenderly, sobbing. She seemed uneasy, and he'd felt uneasy to the core, and then he'd heard it-

-_This isn't the treasure you were seeking, was it?-_

-Almost like an echo at the back of his mind. Then there was a flicker flash at the corner of the room-

-_Bloody patterns on white-gold strands_-

-Which, at the next moment, he realized to be crimson curtains and starlight shattered by the crystalline windows of his very own haven. Except it wasn't safe anymore.

"…said that you didn't want us to let you do…something," Aran was saying, gently removing his arms from around her. He let her, too numbed by the loss- reborn anew, now. "Would it have anything to do with…"she faltered, "The…Black Mage? I heard you used to have connections-"

"I did," he interrupted, "except I killed them all, after." She's silently shocked, of course, he knows- Phantom, Phantom, tricks and ruses and traps and silly smiles; who'd think he could kill like that? Who would think he could tear out their spines and rip off their skins?

Who would think that he felt guilt about it?

"Don't let me do something I'll regret, alright? I already have too many regrets-"

"Shh, shh," she whispers. "I won't. We won't."

"Stay? Please?" He's begging, he's pleading, he's acting like some common pauper (which he used to be), but he doesn't care- simple sights can sink him to new lows, can shatter his pride with a tap.

She consents, and he lets her ease him back into bed, lets her tuck him in, patting his pillow, lowering his head. Phantom can feel himself falling into a dreamless sleep, but before that, he catches a glimpse of accusing blue eyes-violet eyes-

-he blinks-

The eyes are still there-! He struggles to sit up, opens his mouth, tries to say something, but Aran places a finger over his mouth, pushes him down softly, and he sleeps.

OoOoO

"I don't trust him, Aran," Phantom heard Maha hissing from around the corner. "He's having nightmares about the Black Wings making him do…something! And I don't trust him!"

Aran's reply was surprisingly cold. "He's done nothing to make us doubt him. It isn't your place to be searching through his past-"

"Oh, it isn't? He's a thief, Aran, and everyone knows that if you trust thieves you get a dagger in your back-"

_I trust you,_ she was saying, everyone was saying,_ and I really doubt you'd put a knife in my back at this point in our relationship- would you?_

But he'd only ever smiled indulgently- only ever- no. No, he didn't mean to- never meant-

Clutching his head, he turned and ran, sleek boots tapping loudly on the floor. Maha promptly stopped speaking from behind the column, and he could hear Aran's shouts, unleashing fury towards the spirit-

He passed the kitchens, and when Madeleine's gloved hand rested on the knife, he almost thought-

And in the corner, the tinkling of wind chimes was her laugh, the songbird was her singing- his sister? His dead empress? He doesn't know- everything fades into his past, and he _can_ hear it, he _can-_

Everywhere, everywhere-

He can see it everywhere now.

(Or maybe it was there all along)

* * *

(Maybe's he dead and this is hell)

"You killed Suoh! You killed him! I trusted you- we trusted you and _you killed him_!"

Shut up, he wants to _spit_, shut up shut up shut up-

"You know her?" Now is not the time, Freed, now is not-

"Forget it!" he shouts back, and he doesn't know who he's shouting at. Maybe-

Freed. Freed is wary as always but look out for the cane, look out for the cane and the eyes- never forget the eyes, Orca is _fast_-

"Freed! Mercedes!" he shouts out, ignore the general ignore ignore ignore-

Their canes clash. It seems strangely familiar.

Of course it's familiar, it's happened before. Plenty of times. Sparring and training when they were small and young-

"You killed him, you bastard- You killed my _brother_!"

He leaps back. Retreat, he signals to Aran, the only one who really trusts him- oh, Freed believes in him, but Freed doesn't really.

She shoots him a look of confusion and passes the signal on to the others, who exchange wary glances. Of course. They're winning this fight, if only barely.

He's not winning this fight. Can't win till Orca's dead. Can't win because if she tells them, _if she tells them-_

"You killed yourself, you- you- you damned _ghost_, you tore out half your soul to run from your past-"

Don't say it. No. _No_!

"You killed our brother, you expect me to forget that?!"

For one precise, awful moment, he can only see the horror and realization on his comrades faces, can only hear Orca's sobs, mixed with her pained, wild laughter ringing in his ears.

It sounds curiously like something from his past, their past, and for a moment he believes he does see another family in the corner of his eye. The oldest brother, one eye blue, one eye violet, tugs a younger boy with brilliant indigo eyes to his feet and wraps a protective arm around an even smaller girl's shoulder. The girl, lilac flowers for eyes and dead grass for hair, glances at him.

It's all over.

He doesn't hesitate before stabbing his cane through Orca's heart, and he closes his eyes, not wanting to see the betrayal, the should-have-been, the regret.

She dies like her brother, gloved hand fumbling towards Phantom's chest. The others stiffen behind him as they finish off the skeletons, moving in to help.

He doesn't let them, raising a hand. _Stop._

Orca touches his heart, and his eyes open almost instinctively. Why can't he look away? He wants to look away. He _needs_ to look away.

_Don't look at me that way. Please don't look at me that way. Anything but that._

"Do you still have a heart?" she whispers hoarsely, and he won't cry. He refuses to cry.

She dies, and he can feel the gouging of another canyon in his soul. It's a sharp, aching, enveloping pain; mostly he just feels too numb to move from his spot. Every road he goes down, he leaves some part of him behind-

_Would you remember me if I died, nii-san?_

_ Of course, Orchid, don't be silly. Nii-san would never forget us- he's more likely to die before we do, anyways. _

_ Wh-what?_

_ This is nii-san we're talking about, Orchid, he'd do anything to keep us safe, remember? I bet he'll be first to die-_

_ But betting is for nii-san, Lotus-_

The memories are so clear he can see them, see the small children alone on the street, waiting in the rain for someone to come back for them, shivering and feverish in the cold.

_And the unexpected always happens around nii-san. It always does. You'd never expect him to-_

"-Kill us, would you?" It's Maha again. "He's probably the seventh general or something. The first was his little sister, the second was his little brother- the seventh is missing, right? Freed, you twit, I'm beginning to think you want us to die- you let a thief into our ranks and now we find that he's also a liar and a kin-killer and already a traitor twice over."

"Maha-" Aran says sharply and Freed is solemn. Contemplating.

He sits, laying Orca's body on the ground. She took that name after seeing the underwater path; they'd been desperate to eat and heard that you could breathe the enchanted water there. The sea creatures fascinated her, especially the orcas. Couldn't eat those.

Even the last words were the same, he thinks, dredging up memories he'd almost left behind. _Do you still have a heart?_

He does. He's sure he still does. Problem is, he can't feel it beating.

What's the point, then?

(But he deserved it anyways)

* * *

(Maybe he was a monster)

The ghosts are everywhere. Every time he looks at them there's distrust, dislike, and it's

-_the girl, betrayed by her blood, by her kin, by her protector, the son of the sun- aha, haha, the son itself I tell you, in all the sun's cruel glory-_

Or maybe

-_a lover, fallen, bone splayed across the floor in a lovely, lovely design- as lovely as her lover himself, aha, haha, the lover itself I tell you, in all his beautiful sin-_

But what of

-_his younger brother? The one who'd believed that his beloved sibling would never betray, never leave, thought it ridiculous- the brother, the shield, the shield itself I tell you, in all his metallic, bloody wonder-_

So eager to prove himself. So eager, and he tries so hard to prove he's a hero, cane flashing (_a metallic bloody wonder) _so somehow they keep him, bring him along, until it's the final battle, one last chance to prove himself.

(Seeing Valir fall like that, redeeming himself, the infamous demon-slayer, it gives him a poignant, horrid hope.)

And in the middle of battle is when he falls. Seeing Mercedes about to be speared from the side by a thin stream of spidery, spindly black, he throws himself at her, taking the blow (_the bloody shield, all his victims laugh, watching on with dead eyes, the bloody shield at last, at true-!)_

And a fading gleam in his eyes as he shoos her back to the battle (_like the dying sun, the sun's cruel glory, the ghosts- illusions- all chorus_)

And a last smile as he gives in (_such a beautiful sin, letting go in such a manner, they sing, singing, not screaming- what?_)

Then he realizes that he'd thrown himself at_ Mercedes_, not another Aria illusion, and the ghosts aren't shunning him, aren't leering at him like they normally do.

(Perhaps he's broken free...?)

He smiles faintly at the idea. Freedom. Freedom from his memories. Freedom from his past.

And although he dissolves in a flurry of crows, of black doves, the queer, sneaking spell finally taking hold, he sees no darkness- only light.

(But monsters don't die)

* * *

(What a lovely delusion, that he could be a hero)

He feels sun on his skin, light in his eyes. Orca smiles, giggling with Aria about something as Suoh groans when Mercedes joins in. Freed pats Suoh's shoulder in a comforting way; Maha looks on, still arrogant, but happy. Aran leans towards the spirit, whispers something in his ear slyly, then shoots a look in Luminous' direction.

Everything is as it should be. Everything is beautiful and perfect and wonderful, as he watches from the side.

He steps toward them, grass appearing under his feet, the white surrounding him softer.

They take no notice; this is oddly unsettling. So he shouts a greeting; they turn, grin and laugh and wave.

He breaks into a run; everything is perfect, everything as it should be, but the image is fading fast, farther and farther, as he runs on, calling his cards to his aid.

But they're disappearing into the distance, and right before they vanish entirely, he wakes.

(That was a foolish dream)

* * *

(The past cannot be changed, the ghosts mourn, the illusions mourn)

He wakes up. It's cold. Very cold.

His cane lashes out; he's not aware of the movements, but he fractures the ice until is shatters, breaks like his dream.

Blinking blearily at the world; the next moment, the wave of memories hit him. He doesn't cry.

"Figures," he whispers to no one in particular, "that your so-called curse didn't affect _my_ memories. Quite interesting, isn't it, Mage?"

(Well)

(Screw them)

(He'd rewrite the future instead of the past)

* * *

First Maple-Story oneshot- hope you like!

Yes, I am aware it is AU. I don't care. This is fanfiction, I have a creative license.

Please tell me what to work on, how to make my work better :)

First reviewer can make a request for another oneshot!

~DarkestTruth


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